


one silver night

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Blow Jobs, Canon Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed, Threesome - F/M/M, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: Geralt shares a night with Yen and Jaskier that might change everything.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 77
Kudos: 1028





	one silver night

**Author's Note:**

> Not episode-related, unbeta'ed, written for the fun of it. Hope you enjoy!

It’s been a long day on the road. Geralt's seen the lines of fatigue on Jaskier’s face and even though Yen would never admit it, he knows she must be tired, too.

The little inn appears out of nowhere, in the middle of the dark woods. It’s little more than a shed, really, but a warm glow shines from the small windows and promises a warm meal and a bed.

He knocks his shoulder back to wake Jaskier, who must have slumbered off behind him.

“Yes, yes, I’m awake, where’s the enemy?”, Jaskier mumbles, and if Geralt smiles just a tiny bit at that, well, nobody has to know. He shoots a look over at Yen. She grins back at him. So much for keeping his slowly thawing contempt for the bard hidden.

“We should stay the night,” she says, but in fact, it’s more of an order. She jumps off her horse as if they hadn’t been on the road for two days and two nights. “I’m sure you boys must be tired.”

“Mmmmhh,” says Geralt, because there’s nothing more to say. Yen wouldn’t take kindly to him pointing out the tired slump of her shoulders just moments before.

They lead their horses into the open yard and find a few handful of hay for them before they enter the inn. The interior consists of three tables, a few roughly hewn stools and a long bar that _might_ have been cleaned during the last year, but Geralt wouldn’t bet on it. A door at the back of the room opens into a kitchen, presumably, and a staircase to the left will hopefully lead to the rooms.

Jaskier saunters over to the door in the back and knocks politely. “Good evening, is anybody home? We’d like to purchase a meal and maybe rent your rooms?”

An old woman appears in the doorway, a sour look on her face which brightens when she takes in Yen’s richly adorned dress. Even after two days on the road, Yen looks every bit the powerful and wealthy woman she is.

“Welcome, welcome,” says the old woman through more than a few missing teeth. “I haven’t had guests in, well, in quite a while I guess.” She shakes her head and grins a toothless smile at Geralt who nods politely.

“Not many people on the road these days,” Jaskier takes over the conversation that’s expected of Geralt. As troublesome as the bard is sometimes, this is one of his better qualities.

“Sit down”, the innkeeper orders. Geralt chooses a table in the back with clear sight of the entry, the kitchen door and the staircase. Old habits die hard.

Yen sits down to his left, Jaskier to his right, both leaving the space opposite Geralt empty because they know he likes it that way. The two of them are quiet, each stretching in their chairs after the long ride. Geralt feels bad for pushing them so hard. Sometimes he forgets that not everybody lives their lives on the back of a horse.

The promised meal doesn’t take long, and it isn’t very good, but it’s warm and there’s some meat in it, so it’s better than anything they had for a while. Jaskier makes a face after every bite, but then seems to remember how hungry he is before he takes the next bite and the circle repeats. Yen eats like someone who grew up poor, steady and determined, with quick flickering glances left and right as if she’s afraid someone will take her plate away. Not for the first time Geralt wonders what her life looked like before she became a sorceress.

When the plates are refilled and refilled again and then empty at last, a big tankard of ale is presented to them along with three wooden cups. Jaskier and Yen dive into a discussion about the ale, and how it holds up against their favorite wines, and Geralt leans back against the wall, closes his eyes and lets his mind drift. His belly is full, the ale leaves a very mild, but comforting buzz in the back of his brain, and he’s surrounded by, well, he can admit to himself that these people are his friends. Or maybe even more than that.

He must have drifted off and comes to when Jaskier jawns with a sound of a rusty hinge. Geralt opens his eyes to glare at him. Which Jaskier ignores. It’s an ability that not a lot of people possess and those who do seldom live to tell the tale.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a bath and a bed. Not necessarily in that order, although”, Jaskier delicately sniffs his armpit, “maybe exactly in that order.”

The old woman appears out of nowhere. “I prepared your room,” she mumbles, and Geralt squints at her.

“Did you say your room?”

The innkeeper looks like a frightened deer.

“Uhm, yes, yes, I did. You see, sir, this is a small inn. Hardly anybody ever stays here overnight. So I have only one room, sir, but it has a tub and I brought you warm water and the bed is very big, sir, and …”

Yen holds up a hand to stop her before the poor woman has a heart attack. Her smile is softer than most people would expect from her. “It will be well,” she says and hands a gold coin over. “We will find an arrangement.”

Something in her tone clearly isn’t meant for the old woman, and Geralt’s tired body tries to react to that tone with a quick tug in his groin. He shoots a quick glance over at Jaskier who stares at Yen with eyes big like the empty plates in front of them. So he heard it, too.

The ale is finished in silence. Anticipation hums in the air between them. Yen is the first to stand up and climb the steep staircase. Jaskier looks after her, then back at Geralt, clearly waiting for him to explain what’s happening.

Hell if he knows.

He shrugs.

Jaskier stand on slightly unsteady feet – he’s got a way lower threshold than Yen and Geralt -, but straightens himself to his not very considerable height and follows Yen’s path to the upper floor.

Geralt stares into his empty cup for a long while. People, huh? People always tend to make things complicated. He should have kept his distance and carried on with his life. Just him and Roach and an occasional monster to kill. Life had been so easy. He could just stand up and leave and be back on the road in blessed silence before Yen and Jaskier even registered his absence.

He’s not sure when he makes his decision. But a moment later he’s standing in front of a closed door and unsure if it’s impolite to enter without knocking. The door opens to a frazzled looking Jaskier – has someone been running their fingers through his hair? – and Geralt catches a glimpse of Yen, naked, as she steps into the tub as if that’s the most normal thing in the world. So much for “please turn around” – she lost her inhibitions really quick.

Geralt, frozen on the spot, can only watch openmouthed as she lowers herself into the water. It obscures more and more of the naked skin, first her long, long legs, then her well-rounded backside and finally her full breasts. Even the water seems eager to touch her.

Jaskier coughs. “Yeah, uhm, she just… you know … _disrobed._ I don’t know what-“ He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair and looks back at Yen.

Yen holds up a sponge and winks at both of them. “Close the door and don’t just stand there.”

Geralt pushes the door shut with his boot and is over by her side in three long strides, the sponge in his hand and his eyes glued to Yen’s neck where she holds up her hair, out of the water. Her skin is dusty from the road. Geralt makes it his mission to clean each and every speck of dirt from her back. He’s so focused on his task that he doesn’t hear Jaskier being called to Yen’s side, only realizes his presence when a shadow falls over the tub.

Is he-? What the fuck is he-?

Geralt blinks once, but the image is still there. Jaskier is leaning over the tub and kisses Yen. The sponge slips from Geralt’s soap-slick hands and falls to the floor with a wet _thud_. Yen and Jaskier don’t seem to care about his shock. The kiss deepens. Geralt can see the dark red of tongues behind their shining lips. Yen arcs toward Jaskier, freeing the mounts of her breasts from the concealing water, and Geralt, well, he’s not sure if he’s more offended or turned on by the sight.

Yen lets her and Jaskier’s lips part with a smack. She curls her nose. “You two are in dire need of a bath, too.” And with that, she rises out of the water and holds out her right hand in waiting. Geralt moves over the drawer to grab a towel without thinking about it, and lays it into her waiting palm. Yen takes it with a gracious smile and steps out of the tub.

When she passes him, she tugs Geralt’s head down for a quick but heated kiss. He can taste the ale and Jaskier on her lips. Alright, he’s definitely more turned on than offended. It ends as quickly as it started, and Yen walks over to the bed where she starts drying off.

Geralt stands in the middle of the room, next to Jaskier, who is clearly just as flabbergasted by the turn this evening is taking.

“The water’s getting cold,” Yen tells them.

Jaskier’s hands are shaking, but he starts opening his jacket and undresses slowly. Geralt considers his escape plan again, but it’s lost its allure. With a sighs, he starts the process of opening the many fastenings on his garments – it’s not made to just slip out of it – without looking up. The image of Yen lounging on the wide bed is imprinted on his eyeballs anyways. Jaskier is already in the tub when Geralt turns. He found the sponge, too, cleaning the dust from his body with efficient movements. The water cannot hide the fact that the kiss had an impact on him. Geralt is aware that his own interest in the proceedings is showing, but he decides to not let his self-consciousness stop him. He’s only, well, not exactly human, but he’s not made of stone either.

From the small grin he catches on Yen’s face when he lets himself sink into the water, she likes what she’s seeing. Jaskier hands him the sponge without being asked to and Geralt starts to rub the grime from his arms more forceful than necessary. He can feel two sets of eyes on him, his neck burning from Yen knowing stare, his front open to Jaskier’s inquisitive glances that he can feel roaming over his shoulders and his chest and down to the waterline where he’s only barely concealed by the water. With a grunt, he looks up to confront Jaskier’s ogling, but Jaskier doesn’t look away.

He’s too brave for his own good, Geralt thinks, not for the first time. When Jaskier holds his glare, Geralt decides to give him a taste some of his own medicine and have a look for himself. Jaskier is slim, but well-built, all sinewy muscle that he hides well behind his ridiculous clothes. A dusting of dark hair covers his chest and narrows into a fine trail from his navel to his groin.

“Are you done?” Jaskier asks, and there’s a hoarse note in his voice, but also something that sounds a lot like a challenge. “With washing, I mean?” he has the audacity to add.

Geralt doesn’t answer, just stands abruptly, drops flying through the room, before he stalks over and grabs another towel for himself and one to throw at Jaskier.

A minute later finds him once again standing next to the bard, clad only in a flimsy towel, waiting for Yen’s instructions like a love-sick little puppy. He’s be disgusted by himself, if he didn’t enjoy it so much. Determined to take back even a shred of control of the situation, he takes a step closer to the bed, but Yen lifts a finger to stop him. “Uh-uh.” Her grin is wicked.

“We bathed, just like you said,” Jaskier whines.

Yen acts likes she’s deep in thought and taps a finger against her nose. “By my count, I kissed you,” she points at Jaskier, “then I kissed you,” the finger’s angled at Geralt this time. “That doesn’t put us on equal footing, do you think?”

Geralt’s lust addled brain needs a minute or two to solve the riddle. He turns to Jaskier who’s already looking at him and standing way closer than a moment ago.

“She wants us to kiss,” Jaskier says. Geralt notices how red and shiny his lips still look. Jaskier’s tongue peeks out to wet them again, a nervous habit maybe or – “And I want that, too”, Jaskier adds with a careful smile.

Geralt would like to say that he’s surprised, but he can’t fool himself. The small touches, the way Jaskier’s eyes linger on him sometimes, no, he can’t deny that he knew. What he did succeed in hiding from himself until now is that fact that he’s not better off. The shock of suddenly having a friend, and a vulnerable human friend at that, was enough to occupy his brain for the last weeks, so it didn’t even occur to him- well, that’s not exactly true either, is it? It did, now and then, when Jaskier rode behind him, plastered against his back, arms around his middle, breath warm on his neck.

Yes, it did occur. He’s too old to not at least being honest in the privacy of his own mind.

So he nods.

Jaskier looks surprised for only a second before he lifts his hand and curls his palm around Geralt’s neck, slow but steady as if he doesn’t want to spook him. Fingertips trail through hair on the back of his head. It feels… nice and more tender than Geralt anticipated.

Jaskier tugs a little until Geralt understands and bends down for him. Jaskier’s smile is the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes and lets this unforeseen development unfold. Jaskier’s lips are warm and soft and wet when they meet his own in an almost innocent kiss. Geralt needs a moment for the situation to sink in. As honed as his reflexes and skills are in battle, he still feels clumsy in these kinds of situations. He’s always been thankful for his partners to take the reins in these first awkward moments. Yen did so from the start, and Geralt willingly followed her every whim. Jaskier’s different though, he doesn’t seem inclined to take the burden of orchestrating the next steps from him. The press of his lips is playful and inviting, but he doesn’t move on from there.

Geralt takes a step closer until their chests meet and places his hands on Jaskier’s hips where his thumbs reach the unclothed stretch of skin over his hipbones. He can sense Jaskier’s smug approval without having to look at him. He’s rewarded by a hand on his jaw that angles his head a little sideways into a perfect position to deepen the kiss.

Which, again, Jaskier doesn’t.

Geralt makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat. A giggle unbecoming to a sorceress of Yen’s standing wafts over from the bed. He’s being mocked, and rightfully so. Gathering his resolve, he grabs Jaskier a bit more firmly and licks along the seam of his lips with clear intent. Jaskier opens up under him immediately, his soft sigh spilling over Geralt’s lips like fine wine.

Warmth greets him, inviting and seductive, and Geralt sets to explore what’s offered with newfound vigor. Jaskier goes pliant in his arms, and Geralt finds that he quite likes the way those clever fingers card through his hair and scrape along his scalp. He likes the way Jaskier fits against him.

The kiss is no longer explorative, but deepens into something headier, a promise of other ways to meet. Geralt loses himself in it, the give and take that spirals higher with every lick and bite. Another touch, another body joins them. Yen presses against his back and slides her hands along his sides.

“You look beautiful together,” she whispers in Geralt’s ear and bites down on his earlobe, just hard enough to sting. Geralt draws back from Jaskier, still a little dazed from the intensity of the kiss. Jaskier meets his eyes briefly before they flicker over Geralt’s shoulder to Yen.

“What now, mylady?” he asks, voice nothing more than a husky rasp. At least there’ll be no singing tonight, Geralt thinks.

Instead of an answer, Yen lets her hands wander down Geralt’s front, one of them tweaking his right nipple on the way, until they rest on the towel around his hips. He doesn’t have to look down to know that the fabric’s tented in obscene ways. Yen brushes his cock as if accidentally. He bites his lip to stifle a moan. Geralt learned early on that Yen does _nothing_ by accident.

“I think,” she says slowly, “I think we should use this night to make our dear friend Geralt of Rivia feel good.” She hooks her pinkie finger under the towel and tugs. “He’s done so much for us, Jaskier, don’t you think we should show him a little gratitude?”

Jaskier is obviously busy with watching hungrily what the towel will reveal. He licks his lips again, and Geralt’s cock jumps in response.

“Yes,” Jaskier mumbles, “that’s …- that would be the decent thing to do.”

And then, he sinks to his knees, right there on the floor in front of Geralt, and how is he supposed to handle that? The idea alone. Those fucking sinful lips, stretched… He groans and closes his eyes.

Jaskier taps against his leg. “Geralt?”

He looks down into Jaskier’s eager eyes. “Huh, what?”

Jaskier smiles brightly, that teasing glint is in his eyes again. “May I?”

“Oh, yes, I mean, yes, please,” Geralt stumbles over the words. Talking has never been his strong suit, but right now he feels like he’s stuttering like a complete idiot. The blood that had been rushing south turns around to set his cheeks aflame with embarrassment. He doesn’t have much time to ponder his conversational shortcomings, though. Jaskier’s lips close around the head of his cock, and each and every thought flees his mind like mice from a burning haystack.

His right hand finds Jaskier’s tousled hair, because he needs something to hold on to as the sensations flood him. He feels like very nerve in his body is directly wired to his dick. He’s shivering with every inch Jaskier is taking, deeper and deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. All of it is heightened by the knowledge that Yen stands right next to him, watching him lose the last shreds of his composure. When Jaskier can’t go any further, he curls his hand around the base of Geralt’s cock and starts to bob his head, alternating those maddening licks along the underside and tightly sucking the crown until Geralt sees stars.

Heat pools in his gut like a living entity, curls around his spine, burns through his veins, searches for a way out. Blindly, he gropes for Yen and pulls her forward into a crushing kiss. She meets him enthusiastically, even though the angle works not that well. It’s messy and uncoordinated and so perfect his heart hurts.

That’s when her hand strokes over his bare ass and one of her clever fingers finds its way between his cheeks in the lightest of touches. A question.

Geralt’s sure now. They want to kill him. Many people have tried and failed, but these two might succeed. And he’s clearly suicidal, because he, again, nods his consent.

Yen interrupts their kiss long enough to spit on her finger. A moment later, her tongue is deep inside his mouth, and her fingertip is circling his hole. She’s following the same torturous rhythm with both. And all the while his cock is still buried inside Jaskier who seems determined to suck Geralt’s last braincells out of him.

His knees shake with the effort to hold himself upright. His heart is thundering in his chest. An animalistic groan reaches his ears when Yen enters him for the first time, and he only distantly realizes that he’s the source of it. Black spots dance in the corners of his eyes. Yen and Jaskier show no mercy, even when he cries out in warning. That’s the moment Yen finds that perfect spot inside him and Jaskier tightens his hand just so while he curls his tongue around his glans. Geralt doesn’t want it to end, he wants them both right here forever, but this, for once, is a fight he’s bound to lose.

“Jask-“he starts, his lips still half closed over Yen’s, and Jaskier answers with a delighted little moan that’s just the last straw, the last nudge that pushes him over the edge: Jaskier’s obvious enjoyment of it all.

He’s pulled under by giant waves of pure bliss, reflected and thrown back between his two lovers. Jaskier swallows the first spurts, then leans back and lets the white ropes land on his face and neck. A drop catches in his eyelashes. It’s a sight that will haunt Geralt’s dreams for a long time to come.

Yen doesn’t let up, even when he’s shuddering from the overstimulation, until he’s completely spent. She curls her arms around him. He’s not sure if it’s more to be close to him or to help him remain upright.

Jaskier stands and presses a quick kiss at the corner of Geralt’s mouth, then pecks Yen on the cheek. “Let’s get him to bed, shall we?”

* * *

Geralt comes to a while later, awoken by movement to his left. He pries his eyes open and tries to orient himself.The room is darker, the candles burnt down.

The inn.

Yen and Jaskier.

Speaking of which. He turns and finds Yen on top of Jaskier, riding him slowly. Her skin shimmers like polished silver in the moonlight that falls through the small window over the bed. Jaskiers’s hands fit perfectly around her waist. For a moment, Geralt just lies there and watches. Their movements are slow and sensual, nothing urgent about it. He guesses he missed a round, assuming they were half as starved for it as he was.

He strokes a hand up Yen’s thigh to get her attention. She smiles down at him. “Look who’s awake,” she murmurs and pushes a strand of hair from his face. Such a simple gesture, but it stirs something deep inside him, more than anything else tonight. Her eyes are warm and shining with happiness. He wants her to look like this every day.

Geralt’s hand makes its way up her thigh and into the open v of her legs. She sighs when he ghosts his fingertip over her clit, featherlight. They’re not the only ones who can tease.

“Mhhh, yes” Yen hums and stretches like a cat, never stopping the undulating motion of her hips. She looks like a goddess, he thinks, ready to devour the men worshipping her. Geralt would let her.

He rubs the tight knob between her legs in loose circles, watches Jaskier’s cock sink inside her, again and again. The sight is enough to have him hardening once more, but it’s easy to ignore it when there’s so much to see and hear. Jaskier is panting already, his chest flushed, nipples pebbled in the cool night air. Geralt can see the signs that they’re getting closer and closer, and he changes the speed of his fingers accordingly.

Yen comes first, with a short cry and a shudder. Jaskier follows not far behind, moaning both their names. Geralt realizes he can’t wait to hear those sounds again. His mind has no problems to conjure at least a dozen ways to accomplish that goal.

They snuggle together under the covers: Yen between them, her head on Geralt’s chest, Jaskier’s arm around her and his hand on Geralt’s stomach.

He never searched for this. He’s not sure he would have even if he had known it could be found. But right here, where everything’s silver in the moonlight, he thinks he finally catches a glimpse of what it must feel like.

Home.

**Author's Note:**

> [ read the sequel "and golden days to come" here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577430)
> 
> I'm [procasdeanating](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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